push me deep in the river, and drown a part of me forever; any

[Faulkor]

 

In the furthest depths of the forest something stirs. Here the moonlight barely peeks through the thick canopy, but for the cave-dwelling stallion the feeble light is more than enough. It is unlikely that he will ever become acquainted again with the light of day. This is by choice. For too long he has devoted himself to the damp darkness, but she has been such a comfort to the cruel, star-strewn beast. All who he had ever deigned to love had left him (or disappointed him so greatly that he left them). All except the darkness… a companion only slightly more faithful than that of his blue roan friend, Balto.  His companion is gone tonight, no doubt wandering the same great halls of verdure in search of the essence which they both so craved to make their own: magic.  It is not lost on the old stallion that the day may come more quickly than not that his blue friend  overtakes him in prowess. Even during their last few years spent together in utter darkness Faulkor could feel the forces begin to shift. Oh, what a terribly uncomfortable feeling - to feel one’s potential flicker away to add to another. He cannot help the bitter taste on his tongue as envy forces herself inside him. Yet, he cannot hate Balto… not as he hated Sider… not as he hated himself.  Faulkor sighs forlornly. He must find purpose in his aging existence lest he slip back into the hollows of the world to be forgotten forever. Sider had once given him purpose - a reason to fight and conquer. Grinding, aching joints remind him that those days are past, though he still feels that thirst for bloodshed deep in his throat.  A rush of sound slowly fills his tattered ears as he nears an angry river. He delights in the ferocity of the sound, for it reminds him of a distant land and a pretty, milk white mare that had once been his for the taking. For a fleeting moment he wonders of their daughter. How very sad that he had to murder her to spite her faithless mother.  So it is with these memories of old that the shadow rests just out of reach of the moonlight, listening to the roar of an unfamiliar river.  F A U L K O R